


Papa III is stymied by an introvert

by KassieProphet



Series: Ghost Prompts [18]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C.
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Miscommunication, No Smut, Oblivious, Reader-Insert, sister imperator is not amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22505587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet
Summary: Tumblr Prompts:Nothing nsfw, but how would Papa III be with a shy&adorable (but becomes more open and goofy after knowing someone better) type of female s/o? I know papa wouldn’t mind someone outgoing, but I’ve always felt that he would have a soft spot for the shy introverts and actually be drawn to them as well.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Original Female Character(s), Papa Emeritus III/Reader
Series: Ghost Prompts [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536134
Comments: 18
Kudos: 37





	Papa III is stymied by an introvert

He would absolutely turn into that dumbass boy on the playground hanging upside down by his legs from the monkey bars to get his crush to notice him. And of course said crush WOULDN’T EVEN BE LOOKING AT HIM.

He’d noticed you around the Abbey—he knows all the attractive Siblings, but what made him really  _ see _ you was watching you carry on with your friends. You were so reserved and stoic during mass, keeping your head down as you walked down the hallways—but put you in a group of your crew and suddenly you’d have this …  _ spark _ .

At first it wasn’t even an effort to get into your habit—he’d just wanted to be the one to crack that layer of frost you radiate. He went about it all wrong, of course—he’s used to seducing Siblings who want to play and those who  _ realize _ what he’s doing. You were just confused when he shored up with you as you had walked down another long hall in the Abbey. He’d waited for you to say something, but you’d just kept waiting for him to pass you.

“Come here often?” he’d tried finally.

Your head had snapped to him before you’d quickly lowered your eyes from his mismatched gaze.

“Um, me?” you’d squeaked.

The hall was practically empty.

“No, the Unholy Ghost.”

You’d wondered if you were that invisible that he’d never noticed you before.

“I mean, I live here? Your Unholiness,” you added.

His ghast had been so flabbered that he’d actually walked into a pillar. You’d felt such fremdschämen that you’d hurried on, hoping any ire he felt wouldn’t be transferred onto you.

Two days later he’d come out of nowhere to sit next to you in the quad—straddling the stone bench—making the Siblings around you immediately going quiet.

“Did it hurt when you fell?” he’d quipped.

You’d squinted at him, flustered and confused. “But … you’re the one that walked into that pillar?” 

You hadn’t even meant to be funny, but your friends had covered their mouths to stifle their laughter as Papa III gaped at you.

“I … um … I,” he’d stammered, his hand going to the unsubtle egg on his head. “ _ Rude _ .”

You face had flushed, and you’d managed to squeak out an apology before making a hasty exit. Thoroughly embarrassed, you’d skipped mass the next day, only to be informed that he’d asked after you.

“I think he  _ likes _ you,” one friend had said.

“ _ Likes _ me? He only just noticed me 2 days ago.”

“—sitting in a tree,” another had singsonged. “F-U-C-K-I-N-G!”

“Shut your face!” you’d shrieked, shoving them in the face to shut them up.

None of you noticed Papa III out of his vestments looking on plaintively.

A few days later, the group of you had been joking around in the mess hall as you ate your lunches when all of a sudden the lights dimmed. Papa III was suddenly illuminated in the corner by a Ghoul with a flashlight. Another Ghoul had pressed play on a boombox he then held up. The opening riffs of “Cirice” had echoed in the mess hall.

The Siblings in the cafeteria had broken into an excited titter.

On cue, Papa III had held up an echo mic and had begun to sing in it.

He had strutted up and down the aisles, occasionally letting his unoccupied hand trail through a row of Siblings’ outstretched hands. When the chorus broke, he had jumped up on a table and pointed around the hall, as everyone had screamed wildly.

He’d jumped down to continue prowling around as he crooned into the toy. Once he’d started stalking the aisle as he crooned  _ Can’t you see that you’re lost without me _ , the whole crowd thrummed with the anticipation on who’d be the recipient of Papa’s singular attention.

When he’d bent on a knee and thrust his hand in your direction, you’d done the only sensible thing and pushed your friend forward—this moment was all she ever goddamned talked about, and there was  _ no way _ you wanted to be the focus of the entire congregation. There’d been a flicker of exasperation on his face, but quickly enough he was putting his heart into Ciricing the shit out of your friend.

After that, Papa had sauntered away to misuse another table top, and your friend had leaned over and said, “That was amazing, but you’re the dumbest bitch I’ve ever met.” (You found out much later that after that performance Papa III had been in such a sulk that one of his Ghouls had bitched at him to just be direct with you.) 

For days after that, he’d seemed to be glaring at you every time you caught his eyes. It had put you on edge enough that when he’d showed up at your room, you were sure you were about to be upbraided—perhaps even … kicked out of the Church? But he’d just sighed and smoothed his hair out of he face, his posture stiff.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Dinner?” you’d echoed.

“Yes, dinner. It’s a meal. You eat during it,” he mimed forking food into his mouth, “and sometimes there’s even conversation.” He opened and closed his hand a few times.

“Now?”

He’d blinked at you.

“It’s 2 o’clock.”

“I dunno. Don’t older people call ‘lunch’ ‘dinner’?”

His eyes had widened, and he’d mimed getting shot in the heart before stumbling backward

“ _ Old people _ ,” he’d sputtered. “ _ Which _ old people?!”

“My grandma, I guess.”

“And how old is dear grandmama?!”

“Oh, um. Pushing 90?”

“Pushing 90—” He’d leaned forward, hands on hips. “You think Papa is pushing 90, do you?” 

“I, uh—”

“I am very youthful.  _ Vibrant _ , even.”

“Er …”

He’d straightened his posture, lifting his chin.

“ _ Dinner _ is at 6 sharp.”

He’d then turned on his heel and marched away.

You’d had the freakouts to end all freakouts then, and your roommate had come home to find you tearing through your closet.

“What’s your major malefaction?!”

“Papa invited me to dinner and ALL THESE HABITS ARE A LITTLE DIFFERENT!”

She’d shaken you by the shoulders. “ALL YOUR HABITS ARE EXACTLY THE SAME, AND WHY WOULD YOU WEAR A HABIT?!” Then she’d picked up your one formal dress from the pile and held it out. “For Lucifer’s sake, wear this!”

“It’s not a date!”

“OF COURSE IT’S A DATE, YOU COW—OMG.”

A Ghoul had shown up at 5 til to escort you. He’d given you a blatant once over, smirking, and you’d flushed. Your roommate had given you a shove and closed the door behind you. You’d been expecting to be led to Papa III’s private quarters, but instead the Ghoul took you to one of the balconies on the second floor.

There had been a table for two set up—one long candle on the table, and a myriad tealights across the balcony railing. Papa had been staring off into the quad, hands locked behind his back above his coattails.

“Your Unholiness,” hissed the Ghoul, and Papa III had turned. “Have fun with your … meal.” He’d given you another lascivious glance.

Papa III had hissed back and shooed him away. “Away with you foul beast.”

The Ghoul had only cackled as he’d slunk away. 

Papa hurried to pull out your chair. “Don’t mind him, he’s still feral—makes him excellent on guitar.”

Once the two of you were seated and Papa had removed the dish covers to reveal a dinner of PB&J’s with the grucifix stamped into them (“ _ I made them myself _ ”) you’d asked him why he’d invited you to dinner.

He’d taken your hand. “I like the cut of your jib.

“Uh …”

“I’d like to know you better. We talk and accomplish this, yes?”

The two of you had ended up talking all night, way after the tealights had burned out. Turned out, once Papa III got you away from big crowds, you were more open to participating in conversation. He’d used his charm and charisma to keep the conversation going—asking you questions about yourself when you’d flounder and cracking jokes to set your nerves at ease.

He’d walked you back to your room that  early morning night, merely kissing your hand before taking his leave. But after that the two of you had many more nights of pleasant conversation, and soon enough you’d felt comfortable enough to joke with and tease him like you did your friends.

The real test came when Papa had joined you in the mess hall and he’d made a crack about you being Fort Knox. You’d responded by scooping the frosting off your cupcake and smashing it on his face. It had seemed like the whole hall had held its breath waiting for a Ghoul to drag you off—but he’d just burst out laughing, wiping the frosting off his face and trying to smear on your arm. He’d gotten it in your friend’s hair instead, which is when he’d said  _ Oops _ and jumped up on the table yelling, “FOOD FIGHT!”

When Sister Imperator burst in demanding to know  _ What the hell _ , Papa III had pointed at a Ghoul as all the Ghouls pointed at him.

“Seester! What’s that over there?” He’d pointed over her shoulder. She didn’t even flinch to look, but he’d just grabbed your hand and said, “Let’s make a break for it while she’s distracted.”

The two of you had run laughing out of the mess, through the echoing halls, and into a deep alcove. It was there—as he had threaded his fingers through your hair to get the peas out of it and you’d tried to clean the rest of the frosting off his nose—that the two of you had kissed for the first time.

He’s been quite enamored with you since. He’s learned his lesson about making you the focus in a crowd, but in private or amongst your friends, he feels free to turn his full wattage on you. He’s recognized your boundaries and your limits, fully understanding that just because you’ll make goofy monster voices with him in private doesn’t mean you’re comfortable doing so with the eyes of the congregation on you. (Well he doesn’t quite  _ understand _ why you wouldn’t want to be everyone’s focus, but he respects that you feel that way.)

It’s been a real learning experience for him, but he’s found that he quite likes it—he never has to fight you to be the centre of attention in a battle of personalities and he gets a piece of you very few people get to see (it makes him feel special to have your trust like that).

Unfortunately, as one of his paramours, your days of being an anonymous Sibling are over, but Papa III tries his best to keep you under the radar. It totally goes against his instinct to flaunt you off for everyone to see, but—then again—it creates even more mystery, doesn’t it? (And he’s never been one to shy away from being dramatic.)

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm dating myself, this is what an [echo mic](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/610ZrPWXe9L._AC_SL1500_.jpg) is, lol

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Copia Courts A Shy F!Introvert](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729328) by [KassieProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet)




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